A Rocky Reminder

I don’t remember how it happened, because in my mind it only mattered that it happened.

I remember the wind tousling my hair as I gained speed, the hard black handles leaving indents in my fingers as I gripped them tightly and a sense of new found freedom. I could ride just like the big girls in our neighborhood. I stood up and forced my weight down on each pedal, wobbling with exertion to gain speed. I was invincible!

I saw the scattered construction debris on the sidewalk ahead of me and knew I could speed over it with ease. It felt bumpy at first and then a moment later the wheels were locked and skidding out of control! I opened my eyes and blinked in wonder that I was staring down at hot asphalt just inches beneath my nose. It was when I stood up that I felt the warmth and the burn. Tears were instant followed by loud 5 year old cries. Blood was streaming from my knee and my hands were burning not only from the hot asphalt but from being skinned. My mother was running toward me and in a moment had scooped me up into her arms. I looked over her shoulder and saw my bike, shiny blue in the sunlight lying on its side, wheel spinning slowly.

Once inside I was rushed to the bathroom where my father set about examining my wounds. Added to my pain was fear as I saw him pull out the tweezers and peroxide. I clutched my knee, digging my nails into the skin hard, trying to dissuade him from using those tweezers. But my pleas were ignored as I evidently had several pieces of rock ground into my knee. The ordeal ended with me being properly patched up and my father half deaf from my screaming and crying.

A week or so later as I examined my knee I noticed a very tiny hard purple fleck just beneath the skin on my knee cap. A tiny piece of rock had been missed and my skin had grown over it. As I examined the fascinating revelation, I suddenly decided that one spill on my bike wasn’t going to scare me away from riding it again.

I still have that little purple spot, though as I’ve grown it has decreased in size and is barely visible anymore. But it’s forever a reminder to me of my love for that first bike and the determination it gave me to face my fears.

This post inspired by Scribbit’s February Writing Contest